COW-umbas Day

Thing 2: "Do you know what howiday it is, Mommy?"

Me: "uh."

Thing 2: "It's COWUMBUS Day, Mommy, and I got to make one of his ships!"

Me: "Did you make any of the Indians that got massacred because of his discovery?"

Thing 2: "No, Mommy, I wan out of time."


...She ran out of time.

And it's not even halfway through the school year yet.

--

Thing 2: (dramatic sigh) "Hi Mama. Apparently I'm naked."

(minute later, naked Thing runs into living room)

Thing 2: "Whoa, this is scaring me!"

She's holding up two matching pairs of underwear.

Me: "Your panties are scaring you?"

Thing 2: "YES, cuz they're the same! Oh. My. GOD! I don't believe it!"

Indeed.

Total Recall

How do you remember? What does it take for a moment to sear itself into your memory? Pain, joy, grief?

How clear is your recall?

I remember the day the Challenger exploded. I was in my computer math class, with the scary bug-eyed bleached blonde teacher. We had a TV on in the room while we worked. We couldn't believe what we saw. Surely ... The loudspeaker came on. The principal, a definite hard-ass, was crying.

I remember the day that DG proposed. I remember what I was wearing (and I still have the skirt, though it stopped fitting me years ago). I remember the car he was driving. I remember when he pulled over to the side of the narrow country road, and I gave him the "what the hell?" look as he stopped. Not a lot of passing room. He shushed me, got out of the car, picked a handful of wild flowers (including some black-eyed Susans), opened my door, got down on one knee, and asked me to marry him.

I remember the night that my paternal grandfather died. I was in bed, it was late. The phone rang. I heard my father start to sob. I've never heard him cry like that. My dread of late night phone calls started then. My father sounded broken.

I remember the day DG came home, with that hesitant little smile. I met him at the door, since he didn't come further inside. He took my hand, and slid the ring on my finger. A silver band of roses from James Avery. My engagement ring. So I would always have fresh roses, no matter the season. It all started with a rose, after all.

I remember the day we went to pick up my baby sister from the adoption agency. I was only 3 and a half at the time. I remember, because as we were getting back into the car, I cut my hand on something on the seat. A deep slice, between the webbing of my fingers.

I remember the phone call from Sabrina. I was getting ready for a date, Charlie was already at the house. She was crying, and as she tried to explain, the news show finished the story. We'd heard sirens maybe half an hour before. Two of our graduating seniors, two of the most popular and friendliest guys in the class, had an accident only a few blocks from our house. A drunk driver ran a light. One was killed instantly, thrown through the windshield. He wasn't wearing his seat belt. His passenger was critical for weeks, and suffered permanent brain damage. Graduation was only two weeks away. I always wear my seat belt, have from that moment on. And when we pass the cross erected where the accident occurs, I still tear up.

I still remember falling/jumping out of the persimmon tree that was in the field behind our house, knowing fully that my grandfather was there below. I knew that I would be safe, even if I couldn't fly.

I remember "falling" into the lake with my sister. "Don't get wet," my mother would scowl as we left with my grandfather. "Oh no, we won't," we'd tell her. And every time, we "accidentally" managed to fall in. And since we were already wet ....

Blackberries. I remember trip after trip with my grandfather, many times with me on his back. "No, THAT one, Poppie!" And he'd bend and pick that very one. We'd go out with bags and buckets, and every time we'd come back with only half full, and me stained utterly purple from lips to fingertips, scratches from brambles on us both. They never tasted so sweet. I had to pay for blackberries this year. It hurt. And they just weren't as good.

I remember seeing the look on DG's face the day Thing 1 was born, the day he thought he was going to lose us both. The day he almost did. I remember feeling like I was floating (blood loss isn't such a bad way to go), and my only worries were for DG, and for the baby that wasn't breathing.

I remember playing Danny's Game Boy (Tetris) while I was in labour with her, and the doctor coming in, scowling, and asking me if I knew I was having a contraction. I told him to hush, I was about to get a high score.

I remember Danny showing up right before visiting hours were over and after we'd both been dragged back from death, with food, with a huge chocolate milkshake. I hadn't eaten in two days before that. Milkshakes haven't tasted as good since then.

I remember ... GRRR ... that because Thing 1 was two weeks late, that DG and Roy used MY tickets to Jethro Tull and WENT WITHOUT ME to the concert while I sat in the hospital and sulked. Damn them! :P (Yes, I told them to go. We'd paid for the tickets anyway, no use in wasting them. The bastards.)

I remember getting the phone call saying that my great-grandmother was in the ER and that it didn't look good. We rushed to Tomball, and then SAT and sat, waiting. She had still been alive when we got there. By the time they talked to us, she was gone. They let us into the room to see her. She was still on the table in the triage room. I remember the towels over her throat to cover the emergency trach that failed. And I was Angry. Furious. I fled. Ran out of the room, out of the ER, down the halls ... I remember stopping when I couldn't breathe anymore. A nurse came over, gentle, with a clucking scold that I was bleeding on her floor. Somehow, in my flight, I'd ripped open the back of my hand.

I still have the scar.

I remember the absolute ROAR that Thing 2 gave out when she was born. The doctor and nurses were startled. No butt-spanking for this kid. She was out and ready to take over. I remember the words: "Oh, she has a birthmark" and utterly panicking. Imagination took over fast, but it turned out to be a relatively cute round brown "witchmark" under her right arm on the side. Talk about foreshadowing against the future.

I remember the utter shock at having my name called out after our UIL One-Act play performance for All-Star Cast. I remember my father, chasing me down after we were through to hand me an enormous bouquet of pink roses. I remember power-barfing in the bathroom AFTER we were done. I always let stress go afterwards. Before, I was the rock. I remember, in my shock at being named to All-Star, seeing an old boyfriend in the crowd that I hadn't seen in years. Jeff smiling, and giving me the thumbs up.

It is amazing how we remember, and the clarity that surrounds some moments and yet is absent from others. The human brain is an amazing thing, and it frightens me now that many of those pathways are being closed off or severed as my illness progresses.

Still, I think that, no matter what happens, there are some things that will never be forgotten. There is always paper, there is always my journal to record those moments that might slip away.

I will hold them to my heart forever. No matter how painful, or how full of joy they might be. It is my past, my history, my future, and they are parts of what has made me who I am.

just me, pretending to be

On Remembering

It's not that I don't want to remember.

I never want to forget. But it's not just one thing that's the problem.

September 11.

It's a birth day, an anniversary. It's "special" to many people for many reasons, but life went on before, and it will go on after.

Something tragic, unfair, and horrible happened on that day. The thing is, horrible things happen all the time. To Other People. When bad things happen to Other People, it often doesn't seem as important, or isn't even remembered. It was Them, not Us.

But people do remember.

Mai Lai. Pearl Harbour. Hiroshima. Columbine. Fairchild AFB. Rwanda.

Nanking. The Holocaust. Jonestown. Yakaolang. Srebrenica. Apartheid.

The Challenger. Tiananmen Square. Bosnia. Khmer Rouge.

The list has no end. Perhaps it never will.

A few years ago, I was visiting Jon, and one of our trips was to the Smithsonian. (Several of them, including art, cultural history, and Air and Space, as Jon and I try to remember what all we made it to that afternoon)

Jon lost me for a while when we reached the Enola Gay.

I don't know how long I sat there and cried. It is overwhelming, when you see her. Everything hits you at once. Everything is suddenly, painfully REAL in her presence. And it hurts.

People are stupid, greedy, vicious, and single-minded. For every good, there is a corresponding evil. Someone will always want something that someone else owns. Someone will always want to be more in charge than anyone else. Someone will always have different beliefs, different faiths, different ideas of morality. Someone will always disagree with someone else.

And it isn't fair. It never will be fair.

We cannot forget what we as a race have done in the past, in hopes that in the future, someone will think twice or even three times before engaging in conflict. Violence sparks violence. There is no right way to answer violence, when every response seems and feels wrong. It hurts when it happens to you.

What we must keep is perspective.

No one atrocity is more important, more painful, or more vital to remembrance than another. Each act of violence is a failure on the part of us all. Commemorating a single event that happens to Us instead of Them is an act that will always be repeated. It's human nature, for the most part. What happens to Us is easier to feel and remember and is more Real to us than something that happened to someone else, far away.

Perspective.

Should you chose to remember the One, try to keep in mind the Many that came before, and that will come after.

Should you shed a tear for heroes lost, remember the others that have sacrificed their lives for the sake of freedom and peace.

In the end, we have only one world, and we must live on it together.

Some things, we should never forget.

Random Wisdom

-- First impressions are important, but not as important as to whether or not you maintain it.

-- If your track record is public, don't be surprised if the public knows about it. And discusses it. Often.

-- Physical pain can be forgotten, otherwise women would never have a second child. Emotional wounds take longer to heal. If ever.

-- Never do yourself what you can delegate. Then be prepared to do it yourself anyway.

-- Never light a cigarette with a blowtorch. It may look cool, but it takes your eyebrows forever to grow back in.

-- If you have a gut instinct about something, you probably had bad pizza. If you haven't had pizza, pay attention to it. It's rarely wrong.

-- To err is human: to forgive yourself, impossible.

-- The RED wire. Always cut the RED wire. Unless it's blue.

-- There is a reason why hair dryers come with a warning label about not using them in the bathtub -- people are stupid.

-- If you can't find anyone else to blame, it probably IS your fault.

-- Cold pizza and hot beer are only safe breakfasts if you're in college. After that, they just give you ulcers.

-- A cat will always decide to lay down on you at precisely the moment you need to move.

-- Your fart might be funny, but trust me, we don't want you to describe it in depth. Same goes for what you just did in the bathroom. We've already suffered enough.

Superwoman is D-E-D

Somewhere I lost what I think I was going to say, and it turned into some painful self-contemplation.

There are friends that I have made online that remember Super Woman. Invincible. Offline, as well. Nothing phased me. A catch-phrase: "I'm all right. Always am." has fallen flat. It was something of a thin running joke for a very long time.

I survived it. Didn't matter what you threw at me, I survived it, usually with strained laughter and sheer stubbornness. I'd get over it.

So how do you explain to these people that Super Woman is dead?

There are people that I have never met in person that have been closer to me than any relative. People I utterly adore with heart and soul and that have been there for me, and I for them, time and time again. How do you tell these people that despite that, you no longer would accept a chance to actually meet them? That to show them what I have become and what I have lost would hurt me deeper than the lost chance of becoming closer?

It frightens me.

My husband told me yesterday that he had told one of our old circle about it. We haven't spoken with him much, DG much more than I. He explained, and that I could not walk without a cane, how I could no longer do simple things.

Part of me was torn. I was ... hurt. Angry, that he told, and didn't understand why.

Some part of me still wants to be remembered as invincible.

I know that most of my family does not know, that my monster has not bothered to tell them. She never had before, when I had surgery, or anything else went wrong. And it is strange, where she doesn't seem to care, I know that they do.

I've not told them either. Super Woman syndrome again.

Yet, she invites us down for the traditional holiday dinners. What does she expect to happen if I come, if they see me and realize what she had been hiding? She hasn't done herself any favours. My uncle's wife (as opposed to my mother's sister, who is perhaps the neatest lady I know, and who DOES know) already dislikes my mother intently. I used to wish that I'd been his daughter instead, so that Liz would have been my mother.

It did not take long, the last time we went down for Thanksgiving a few years ago, for them to find out why our trip down there lasted less than 24 hours. And Liz was Angry. I was invited to next time, stay with them.

It is not a bad thought.

My husband has the time off for us to go down this year. But it's at the monster's house this time. (Every year, Christmas and Thanksgiving trade out.) I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can face what is to come when we show up.

I suppose in a way that a lot of it is that fibromyalgia is actually the least of my concerns, as it is also with Heidi and Cairyn. We have other problems that just amplify everything we can worry about.

I just don't want to be remembered as I am now.

CAT for sale

I'm not sure whether I should laugh, or gross out.

Zamboni moved slowly out into the living room, and hunched in the position that indicates that either A) the carpet is looking at him funny, or B) he's about to yark.

Another turn, and he saw me looking at him.

He turned a little again, looked up, and yes, I was still looking at him.

He gave me the Evil Cat Eye, the one that says "I hope you're a mouse in your next life so I can eat you, bitch."

AND HE TURNED HIS BACK ON ME so I couldn't watch him throw up.

DG, your cat is SO weird.

Of course, now someone needs to clean the hot cat barf off the carpet.

What Thing 2 has learned at school:

"I pledge allegiance,
To the Texas flag.
Under God,
I am invisible."

Stray Thoughts

Why, yes, yes I am STILL awake.

Spent most of the weekend with the Esoteric one. Lots of running around (okay, they ran, I limped and staggered and trudged a lot), food, movies, computer babbles.

Harley keeps leaping onto the back of the futon and staring at the back of my head. I don't really want to know.

Wow. I could actually hear the vacuum sucking the last remaining brain cells out in a glorious eruption of Brain Fartitis. Whooooosh!

Harley thinks it's fun to leap onto the table, then leap to my computer tray, then leap past me to the futon. She's also staring at the ceiiling again.

Things are up. They ain't awake, but they're up.

So why is everyone but me eating breakfast? I need a better slave, mine seems to be broken.

There goes Harley again. Boingy. Boingy. Boingy. The world is freaking Harley out.

Boingy! Almost right into the syrupy waffle plate of Thing 1. That would have been Bad.

WHOOOSH BOINGY BOINGY. Christ, Harley's turned into a gas molecule.

Thing 2 is sitting, um, mostly upside down in the computer chair. I seriously doubt that's going to help her wake up.

BOINGY! Ceiling looked at Harley funny, now she has to Make It Dead. I keep picturing the cartoon where the dog keeps sneaking up on the cat and barking, and then they have to pry poor Claude out of the ceiling. Instantaneous cat levitation. Harley is practicing it now.

Thing 2 is still upside down.

Black hole.

.
.
.

Dude, what is this "morning" crap and why the hell am I experiencing it from the wrong side of consciousness?

Boingy. That one almost clipped my ear, kinda like the arrows and Elrond at the beginning of LotR. WHOOSH.

Oh look, breakfast. I guess I'll keep him after all.

Zamboni is staring wistfully at the place where Thing 1's waffle plate used to be. We've had that experience, and I have no urge to repeat it. Cat looked like a feckin cactus, his tail and butt all covered with syrup bits and EVERYTHING else he came in contact with. Coulda used him as flypaper. And boy, did he yowl when DG had to bathe him.

MREeeeoooooOOOoowwwwowowowowowwwww!

He burned the toast. What is up with that?

Moooom, Harley's doing it again!!!!!!!

Whaff fis? Wha ... whaff fis? Fere is food in my mouf. Whaf fis?

No. I mean it. No. Okay, well, maybe.

Brraaaaaaaap! Guilty!

Nerd Alert

Pooka: Uh. ::whoosh, black hole, this is the sound of everything on the list being consumed in a fiery brain fart::

Dax: Oh oh oh! Can I have one of those?!?! It would be great to have at least a couple a day at work. That's the great thing about the military sometimes. You can get away with not thinking for hours before people catch on.

Pooka: I still don't get the whole Gandalf breakdancing on his head scene.

Dax: Because we would turn him into a toad and shove a magic missle up his ass ... but this was suppose to be a pseudo-family movie.

Pooka: ::mope:: Yeah, and WE would have used grenade launchers on snipers.

Dax: They did just fine with the snipers, actually. :Grins, then cracks up: Actually, that would make a great cartoon. Aragorn with a grenade launcher, looking at a pissed Legolas, the caption reading "Sorry man, but you just became obsolete."

HP - 0 Pooka - 1

I just got an Error Message Report notifying me that the Error Message Report had an error, which it wanted to report.

Nemesis has given up on subtle and has launched an open campaign to drive me screaming off the deep end.

::CROWS louder than any Lost Boy::

"If you receive this error message randomly, or when you try to start a program, remove extra memory or have the random access memory (RAM) in your computer tested. This behavior may occur if you have bad RAM."

HAH!

Fuck you, Compaq techs.

Yipe. Had a Tarin moment going on there. Next thing you know, I'll be shouting "Ain't I good? Told ya I'm good!" at a room full of illusionary people.

Hunted down that damned blue screen error message, turned off the reboot, wrote the first error I got down.

Bad RAM.

I mentioned this repeatedly, but figured it wasn't applicable since I hadn't added any new RAM.

Too bad it was fucked straight from the factory.

Phone calls begin again tomorrow. With a vengeance.

UPDATE: Got three more errors. Curiously enough ....

"STOP 0x0000001a (0x00041284, 0xca9a2000, 0x000077e0, 0xc0c00000) MEMORY_MANAGEMENT

STOP 0x0000004e (0x00000007, 0x00007abf, 0x0000f17e, 0x00000000)PFN_LIST_CORRUPT

STOP 0x00000050 (0xc2332b94, 0x00000000, 0x00000000, 0x00000000)PAGE_FAULT_IN_NONPAGED_AREA

Cause
This behavior can occur when the random-access memory (RAM) on your computer has become corrupt."


And, more curiously ... HP/Compaq support is truly and utterly clueless. DG, I hope you're up to getting on the phone and barking at some folks, I still don't have my voice back.

Hey, speaking of RAM, does anyone know if DDR memory has a particularly short lifespan? Not as a known issue, per se, but via experience? Klash keeps getting DDR sticks eaten, and this machine apparently came with a bad one.

Harum. Growf.

Meowowowowowow

Ever hear a Maine Coon complain?

They do it so well. And loudly.

Siamese have a thing about the weird voice as well. The two breeds have relatively distinctive sounds.

Zam walked over towards the door, cocked his head. Looked confused.

Turned around.

"MREOOOW? Mroooooooooow. Mrow. MREEEEOOOOOOOOW."

Walked around a bit more. Stopped and MREOOOW?d at the floor.

Then at the ceiling.

The Mother Ship has been trying to communicate again, only, Zamboni seems to have his wires crossed.

I want a salad. A big Olive Garden salad.

Sigh.

Why is Harley sitting on the table, staring at me?

Or is she staring at the scary thing only cats can see that's lurking behind me, waiting to ...

Uh. Harley? You can stop that now.

But it looks so CUTE ... so long as you don't look into her ... eyes.

Yeeeees maaaaaster ....

HP Technical "Support"

Complete wipe of the drive with a tech on the phone. Drive is completely empty.

Total reformat, all disks present.

Final boot.

There is no sound. Check. Sound card has the big yellow circle with the !.

Hmm.

Uninstall. Install hardware. Get a failure, not found. Hmm.

Reboot. Same thing.

Call tech support.

Remove the (!) again. Add via another method.

Driver not found.

Reboot.

No sound.

Hear tech flee for his life. Endure hold music. For a long time.

Contemplate axe.

Kick self for not buying a @*!*#$# Macintosh.

Be told that I have to use the Application Recovery CD.

Prepare to award a new "Unclear on the Concept" award.

Try to explain that, right out of the box, very first boot, There Was No Sound Card. In place was happy (!).

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that, out of the box, nothing says that you have to individually install sound card drivers later. Point out that paperwork says no disk needed, just plug in and answer the questions. Point out that, should this extra step be required, it should be mentioned in the "Start Here -- Now you're ready!" paperwork.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that RECOVERY is generally a Bad Thing, and means that Something Is Wrong, requiring it to be recovered. Point out that Out of the Box should not automatically have something wrong. Point out that this is not mentioned anywhere -- again -- that you should have to do this.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Point out that, yes, you realize this, having mastered the skills of reading both the English language and the instruction sheets. Point out that yes, you looked at every piece of paper and every disk before ever turning machine on. Point out that you are well aware of what RECOVERY means, and that it implies a Bad Thing. Point out that still, despite the instructions, out of the box meant no sound card. Ask, politely, why this is not covered in documention.

Be told that's what the application recovery CD is for.

Question as to whether or not he got his tech certification as a K-Mart Blue Light Special. Point out, ever so politely, that you will offer them the choice of a cyanide pill with a hemlock cocktail to wash it down for a clean death, as opposed to what you will do once you cheerfully volunteer to help them reprogram their entire service center with plastic explosives.

Be told that the computer should not do what it did, and that he has no understanding of why it happened.

Point out for the fifth time that despite what it isn't supposed to do, that it did it anyway. Twice. Twice squared. Point out that, next time, should there prove to be a next time, you will never ever ever buy their brand of computer again. Point out that if they insist on delivering products that are disfunctional right out of the box, that you will recommend their need for therapy to the BBB.

Point out to self, once realizing that he is truly Unclear on the Concept, that next time, you really will buy a Macintosh and save the headache.

.... would it help if I got out and pushed?

Computer has officially been named.

Nemesis.

Resident Evils, or ...

... am I dead yet?

My voice sounds like a foghorn.

If you've seen 'Resident Evil,' (and even if you haven't, this is relevant) you'll know that it follows a somewhat traditional Romero approach to zombies: get infected, you die, you get back up. Injuries inflicted by zombies turn you into one eventually.

/Brain tangent: comparison of Zombification to Ebola and the other filoviruses. Even in death, the virus causing each is deadly and can spread to others. Both stay "hot" for a long time after the death of the host. In Ebola's case, though, once the host dies, the chance of infection is limited to those that come in contact with the body's fluids. By killing the host, it kills the chance to spread. The T-virus for RE also kills the host. Unfortunately, the host gets right back up again to cheerfully spread to anything the host attacks.

"Becomes" the virus. Phrase that easily applies to both the filoviruses and zombification viruses. By the time they kill you, the virus has replicated so many times that no part of the body is untouched, and any and every contact is a chance to spread infection. Groovy.

/end tangent.

So. Character gets chomped, goes through process towards death and zombiedom.

I look like that right now. Then again, I pretty much feel like that as well. I *think* I slept, in between fever delusions and bouts of painful coughing that were so intense that even Felimid avoided my side of the bed instead of snuggling. Pooka the Undead, just before going off to chomp and infect someone else. I got it easy, all I have to do is cough on them.

Thing 1 goes to school, tummy hurts, barfs dramatically and is sent home. This is how I started a few days ago, so it's not a good sign.

Thing 2 went to school and turned into Clark Kent. All she needs now is the dorky glasses. Yes, Thing 2 poofed into the meek and mild-mannered alter ego the minute she got to class, lasting until DG had her home and in the house.

Both Thing 2 and the teacher survived their first day together. Me, I'm thinkin it's all a setup, lulling the teacher into a false sense of security.

At least Thing 2 said that she wanted to go back tomorrow.

Watched Daria after the Dax-man left last night (prior to which was just weirdness squared). If only it didn't have all the funky Noggin filler in commercials. Yuck. Noticed that the show I caught early repeated at midnight. Till then, hadn't even known it was on other than at midnight. Sure enough, 9 and 9:30. Hot damn.

Saw somewhere that they were finally going to release more Daria to video. Bout time.

"If tinwhistles are made out of tin, what do they make foghorns out of?"

AaaaOOOOOOOOOgah! Dive, dive, dive!

Wheee

You know your fever is going up when ....

... your food has tracers.

... you find yourself dancing to the end-theme to Daria -- after the credits are over.

... "it wasn't that kind of goat" sends you into what should be helpless giggles, only it comes out in a strangled pathetic croak and scares off the cat.

... what was I saying?

... you STILL don't understand the whole "men in feather boas" thing.

... there is this ... thing ... in your face, and you can't quite figure it out and it won't go away and you swat at it but it doesn't move and it's in your face and won't go away and you move and it moves and you dodge and it dodges and you swing at it and it's still there and so you try to yank it away AND SONOFABITCH THAT WAS MY HAIR AND THAT HURT!!!!!!

Alien Death Plague

Sick.

Not just any kind of sick, either. Sick sick. As Opal would say, Alien Death Plague sick.

First bronchitis of the season, and, more surprisingly, my first time of being this type of sick in over a year.

It's amazing what having your tonsils removed again can do for you. For the new folks, yes, I did say again. Had em taken out when I was 18 months old (sounds WAY too young, but it was desperate), and again some 30+ years later. Yes, they've been known to grow back, but the theory in my case is that since it was so long ago, the procedure wasn't as efficient and they missed a piece.

So, when I got terrifyingly sick with strep and several other goodies and ended up in the ER to get shots so my throat didn't close entirely, the bug moved in to stay. Nine solid non-stop months of severe tonsilitis, four cases of strep, and a thousand dollars or more of antibiotics later, back to the hospital I went.

Took another two years or so for the chronic death plague to fade, and then I made it through last winter without ever catching the flu. My immune system is not particularly cooperative, and I can catch a virus if it winks at me from across the state line, so this was impressive.

Started sneezing a lot, hard, about a week ago. A few days later, because I have trouble fighting things off, the cough set in.

Today, I croak in a voice that the love child of Demi Moore and Barry White would envy, I'm running glorious amounts of fever, I'm shaking, and I hurt. Coughing up icky things for those of you that thrive on TMI.

Sleep? Who's that?

My baby, little Thing 2, starts kindergarten tomorrow.

My baby. Baby no more. Two kids in school.

Can't decide if I should celebrate or mourn the passing of my baby into child.

But I'm damn grateful that being sick held off until this point.

Nurse, I'd like another gallon of NyQuil, thank you. And while you're fluffing my pillow, feel free to smother me with it and be done with the whole mess.

Thing 2 Rides Again

Thing 2: "Right here, this is where my heart is. I have to keep track of it, you know?"

Me: "Why, does it wander off if you stop?"

Thing 2: "Yes. Yes it does. And sometimes it even goes up into my NECK! For Real!"

Me: "Well, if it goes to your foot, let me know and we'll amputate."

Thing 2: "Mo-THER. (scoff) Now you're just being SILLY."

--

Overheards ...

"If you don't stop that RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I will kill myself!"

"Jesus H Keeee-rist!"

"Kids, don't do this at home!"

"OOoo, dang, I wish I'd never done this before."

"Help me, help me! No, I can't, I'm too scared."

"I hope that spider eats you."

"No, wait! Don't tell me, I'm going to fall!"

"Um. Nothing broke!"

The Aging Thing

The idea of getting older isn't bothering me half as much as it used to.

I mean, on the surface, I'm older than I look, and far far younger than I feel. I ache too much to be this age, I know too much, I've done too much. I hit 34 in two weeks. I'm not dreading it. I'm not cringing, or hiding from it, or avoiding it. It makes sense to me now.

I think I even welcome it.

It seems like I have finally reached some sort of balanced agreement with the way things are and must be. We all age. It's not a Wrong thing. It's going to happen. Even once you die, the years still pass, and your body follows along the proper path to return to the earth.

I'll pause sometimes when we're out, suddenly feeling like myself again for a fleeting moment. Small things can bring it on, sensory delights that pick me up and fly me away from what I've become. Then I have to take another step and I can once more feel the cane in my hand, and the spasm and aching that makes it impossible to walk without out.

Four legs, two legs, three legs. All tripod anatomy jokes aside.

BEING older no longer stings as much as FEELING older.

DG and I were talking about Esoteric's trip to Six Flags, and how old it had made him feel. DG shook his head and agreed that we were getting too old.

Too old. What the hell is TOO old, anyway?

Does "too old" for an amusement park mean I'm too old for the action figures on my desk? Does "too old" mean that I have to stop wearing clothes that I like and dress in some prescribed Old Manner? Does too old mean I have to give up the things I like and enjoy because I'm "too old" for them now?

There's no such thing as being too old for anything. If my body allowed, I'll be damned if I let age keep me from zipping down a slide or playing on a swingset if I felt like it. I may have to make allowances for comfort, but that's not age demanding it. I could be sixteen again having to spend money on shoes that support correctly, and not be too old.

So why the heck would that make me too old now?

I remember sixteen, vaguely. I remember sixteen and amusement parks. I remember riding roller coasters that I adore -- and then spending the next hour curled up next to a trash can, shivering and hurling and unable to stand while my sense of balance tried to recover. Ah, the burdens of destroyed inner ears. Vertigo, fun for the whole system.

Didn't stop me then. Didn't make me feel old then, either, to have to stop and sit and rest.

I do know my limits. The nice thing about the limits of my body, however, is that for now, they aren't constant. There are days when I feel like I could walk forever -- such as the day some time in the last month where I wore DG out and HE was the one to say we had to go home. And I can make alterations for days where I cannot. I don't *always* need the cane to walk, but I make sure I have it with me. I won't let that stop me, either.

I'm getting older. Big deal.

I'm just not getting Old.

Brand new doctor.

Walked in, the dude at the desk involved me in a talk about my nose ring. Had promise right off the bat.

Didn't have to fill out a lot of medical history new patient paperwork. Curious.

Was called back near immediately. Hmm.

Got weighed (UGGGH), and put in a room. Oh my. Room had TV with patient information network stuff -- remote at my hand. Computer across. Nurse sat with me, and input all the information directly into the system. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING was taken down. Very cool.

Doc walks in, peeks at computer, tells me to hang on. She has another patient that will be a short visit, and since I'm new, she wants the other one out of the way so she can spend extra time on me.

Pick jaw up off floor. Pick jaw up again as the doc peeks in to check on me while she finishes the paperwork on the other patient.

If she'd been 6 inches shorter, I'd have sworn she was my baby sister. Perky. Talkative. INTERESTED. Intelligent. Discussed the fibro -- including the conventions she regularly attends. Didn't give me a blank look at the RSD. Had a FIT over the dual diuretic that I'd blinked over, switched me back to plain Accupril to go with the Maxide.

Blank shock on doc when she finds out that Elavil was the sole control for the fibro. A frown over the Neurontin, she might up the dose.

My right hand cooperated. Sure, alone, it was nothing. But next to the left hand ... whoa, momma. RSD verified happily.

The weird peeling and splitting and thickening of my skin is noted and on the chart. Not a worry yet, with no inflamation or sign of infection, but she's seen it and will keep an eye on it with me. An optional med added to see if it helps with the thickening and weird callouses for no reason.

I have Ambien. There is a God. Her suggestion, not mine. Her, annoyed as shit that the old doc wouldn't even consider it.

Another appointment in one month for a complete physical. Not throw drugs, see you in three months. No, I Will See You in one month. Total bloodwork, PAP smear, the works.

She cares.

Her office staff gave each other shit the whole time. They LIKE each other. They like her. These people SMILED, for God's sake.

I have a new doctor.

I'm still in shock. I'm considering tears.

Honey, I'm home.

Petrified!

Thing 2: "Yes. No. Yes, yes, No. NO! No no no no no. Yes. Yes. No. Yes, no, no, yes, no, yes."

(This is all right in my ear.)

Thing 2: "Yes, no. Dammit. No. Yes yes NO NO NO! Yes. No. No. No. No. Yes. No. No. No."

(five minutes later, still ...)

Thing 2: "Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No no no no no. No. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la TADA!"

(waves a Lego wand at me)

Thing 2: "Petrificus totalis!"

(stares at me)

Thing 2: "No. No. No. Yes ... no. No no yes no. No."

Summer vexation is arrived.

Animal Safari

Aaaaaaaaaand another Animal Safari break.

Had to go out and catch toads for the Things.

Thing 2: "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom mom mom mom MOM! There's something hopping outside the window and I think it's a FROG!"

Thing 1: "Mom, mom, can we go look? Mom, it IS a frog! Mooooom ..."

Yeah, yeah, okay. Pooka the Beast Catcher is on duty.

No, we are not keeping him. We're going to look at him, pet him, and leave him outside to catch bugs.

Thing 1: "Wow, will he eat the bees?"

Thing 2: "Aw, but it so precious, Mommy. Can I keep it? Will it eat my sister?"

Thing 1: "MOOOOOM!"